


in another life

by mariafuckingcalavera



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Angst, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:07:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24257887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariafuckingcalavera/pseuds/mariafuckingcalavera
Summary: The Harbringer of Solitas learns to care for another.
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Roman Torchwick, Qrow Branwen/Summer Rose
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3





	in another life

**Author's Note:**

  * For [contradieu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/contradieu/gifts).



> day 6 of magpie week: modern / role reversal!! i chose the latter and chose to dig up some old drafts of the Harbringer of Solitas from my fic, All Is Fair In Love And War! also i opted to describe @oikanoo on twitter's redesign for roman in this fic!
> 
> roman's outfit: https://twitter.com/oikanoo/status/1256425379952238592
> 
> all is fair in love and war: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23262565/chapters/55706101

The corners of his lips curl upwards to a smirk as he blends into the crowd easily, hands in his pockets.

He watches from the corner of his eye how disorder spreads through the elitists like dominoes, each one falling faster, each effect more disastrous than the other as he watched it all, slipping away into the summer breeze. He can't help but smile as he watches the discourse crackling in the air, enough to light a cigarette, the sparks of tension enough to set the kingdom aflame, only one, lone black feather lingering at where it always started.

Qrow had been bored as usual, and when he was bored...well, the Harbringer of Solitas always knew how to liven up the atmosphere.

So that was exactly what he did: a cigarette lit for a while too long, falling into the carriage of a racist businessman, setting the wooden carriage aflame, leading to false accusations and words these Atlesian types see as vulgar being thrown around, the tension and the anger bubbling to a boil until it frothed over the edges, overflowing onto the streets and into the air. And it all led to this: a 'daring' fight to the death, man and sword as steel whizzed through the air clumsily, sloppy swings of their swords fuelled by rage and emotion.

Qrow snickered behind his hand as he watched from the sidelines. Their technique's sloppy as fuck, he scoffs to himself as he munches on an apple from where he watched, so enamoured with the fight that he didn't notice a particular gentleman paying absolutely no mind to the commotion whatsoever, walking aimlessly through the streets.

Well, almost.

His train of thought was interrupted when he felt a body crash into his right side. He yelped as he tumbled to the floor stumbling towards the left as the man came to a stop, his book fluttering down to the road below them.

"Oh, goodness, I'm so sorry. Sir, are you hurt?" A melodious voice asked him, filled with concern and embarrassment. Qrow looked up for his eyes to meet stunning, emerald green kneeling down on the street to meet his: emerald green eyes shining brighter than any jewel he had ever _seen,_ let alone stole. An array of light pinks dusting his cheeks, highlighting the colour of his eyes: or eye, in his case, fiery amber locks sweeping gracefully over the right side of the scholar's face, the rest of his hair was gathered into a ponytail over his right shoulder, a bowler hat sitting on his head.

"No, uh, I'm okay." Qrow managed to stutter, and the man sighed with relief, immediately rambling off, his voices spoken quickly, but with such articulacy that couldn't be from anyone that wasn't a scholar: and from the way he dressed: his pristine, spotless white and red coat with golden embroidery that sparkled in the sunlight, silken shirts and ruffles from his sleeves, he definitely seemed like quite the esteemed scholar. He watched as his arms waved around frantically as he spoke, his speech as fast as a bullet train. He tried to catch the man's gaze, but they had long left him: searching around for something on the street in a contained frenzy.

"Oh, thank god. I really can be so inelegant at times, please forgive me. I'm most definitely at fault, I wasn't watching where I was going, and I've sent you tumbling to the ground-" Qrow chuckled as he gently grabbed the man's wrist in one hand, his other hand reaching for the book behind him and handing it to him. The man in question looked up at Qrow, his frantic movements halting.

"Hey, it's fine, pretty boy. Really." Qrow assured with a smile, the slightest hint of mischief lining it as he thought he saw the blush on his cheeks grow a shade darker. He let go as the scholar accepted the book gingerly, a sheepish smile on his face as both of them got to their feet, dusting themselves off: watching the man shake his ruffles ever so slightly to shake the dirt off before he picked up the red and black cane and hung it back on his arm.

"Oh, uh, apologies, but I didn't get your name. Mine's Roman." The scholar apologizes. Qrow smiles, easily answering,

"Qrow." He smiles to himself as he still sees the darkened blush on his cheeks, but his gaze tips to his hat. A mischievous, but harmless idea starts to grow in his mind, but he finds his train of thought interrupted once again.

"Oh, you dropped your apple. Apologies for that, allow me to get you another." The scholar states, bringing him back to the main square, to all the noise in the background that seemed to fade at the sound of the scholar's voice. Instinct nearly brings his hand back up to wave him away, his feet about to swivel and walk away, about to forget him- but for some inexplicable reason, one he couldn't even begin to fathom- he lets out a chuckle, rose red meeting emerald green. He's cute, he can't help but think, and if he really was so insistent...

Well, Qrow definitely was stealing that hat of his.

"Lead the way, pretty boy." He gave in with a wave of his hand, an amused smile when he sees the scholar's eyes brighten up, shining in the sunshine as he offered Qrow a hand.

This was going to be interesting, he thinks to himself as he takes the scholar's hand, whisked away from his own mischief and towards the crowd.

He only leaves the man when the sun sets: fiery orange as vibrant as the scholar's amber locks staining the sky, a bowler hat sitting on black, feathered locks, smiles on both their faces.

~~~

_He didn't want to be conscious for this._

_Please please_ please, _let him sink into the blissful depths of unconsciousness, please let his life force fade away as his eyelids fell shut for the last time, rose red to a sliver and then gone. Let him succumb to the overwhelming darkness so he didn't have to hear the splatter and squelch of blood underneath his feet, didn't have to melt away the metallic taste of blood with the fiery taste of whiskey again like he had done so many times before. Let him die. Let him die so he didn't have to feel the claws digging through skin and bone, white hot as they reached for his barely beating heart, so he couldn't see her tearing it to two, to three, to a million pieces. Let him die so he doesn't have to feel her weight in his arms as he begged and begged for her to stay alive, for every breath and every ounce of his life and warmth to leave him and enter her. He didn't care if he didn't live (he didn't want to- no, he couldn't live in a world without her, without her laugh and her smile and the way she looked at him and found no fault) if he couldn't live with her. She was the best of us, the light in the dark, the passionate fire that inspired others with her warmth._

_Where was that warmth now, love?_

_Where was that light, the one that shone in your eyes?_

_Where was I, when I could have saved you?_

~~~

The Harbringer of Solitas succumbs to the darkness of the night, feeling the cold reminder of guilt settle deep in his stomach.

He doesn't know where he ends up, he doesn't know where he is as he calls for fiery whiskeys, amber scotch, vodka that's so clear it becomes the perfect contrast to the entanglement of terrors in his mind as the mist of memories blur and meld into a thickening fog, flashing silver, red, demented wails the crying souls of that night in the cathedral, of that night as the violent oceans thrash and tower above the deck. Droplets like ferocious monsters with a carnal fascination to destroy, to hurt, to kill, to take the lastr reasons and the last fires of their soul only to snuff it out before their eyes, letting them fall into the depths of its darkness. Letting the haunting cold consume them as the tendrils of gravity pulled themf further down. Leaving them alone, not caring if they ever drew another breath.

All he sees is silver, red and white and he tosses his head back to take another drink.

He doesn't know where he is or how he got here, but he just can't bring himself to care as the alcohol sinks deeper, keeping the darkness at bay for just one night. Another, another, he calls as he drinks away the pain, as he drinks away the image of Summer Rose, of silver eyes, of the shipwreck that took his last reason to live and crushed it underneath its feet. He doesn't know what will happen in the morning, but he can't bring himself to care.

He just lets himself sink under the influence, letting everything else fade as he stays under, letting the tides of inhibition and his own self-hatred, each drink blocking out every single thing from the pain to the self-hatred to the grief and he smiles wickedly as he hears a voice purring into his ear, words incomprehensible but the tone impossible to misplace. He's too inebriated to care as he whispers sweet nothings to someone unknown and raises his glass to his lips, about to take a sip as the world melts away-

But his thoughts are interrupted when he feels the presence left, replaced by a low voice, rage barely constrained.

"Are you alright? Those bastards are repulsive for trying to take advantage of you, I'd put them behind bars if I could. They're absolute vermin..." He hears a voice ramble once again, but he recognises this one: He recognizes the golden embroidery, sparkles dancing on the gold detail as he waves his arm around. Qrow squints at the man, recognizing the way his hair covered one side of his face: though it's messier now, fiery locks like flames as they cascaded past his neck, barely making it past his shoulders. He looks up to see cherry red lips and a flame dancing in emerald green eyes, framed by bright orange hair, with an absence of a familiar...

Bowler hat.

Was this...

"Pretty boy?" He laughs, and his heart flutters when he sees those cherry red lips turn upwards into a smile. The little pretty scholar's back, he giggles to himself, swaying on the barstool, feeling large, steady hands catch him before he stumbles off the barstool, whiskey in the glass threatening to spill before it leaves his hands, replaced by a warm hand.

"So you do remember me, hat thief." He teases, but his voice is dripping with concern, and Qrow looks up and it's written all over the little scholar's face. Why is it there? Why did he look so concerned? Damn, why was he so concerned, why was the scholar looking at him with so much kindness?

He certainly didn't deserve it, he laughs to himself as he stumbles forward, only for strong arms to catch him again.

But he disregards these notions, caring for him anyway. He cares for Qrow anyway.

And soon, he learns to care for Roman too, more than words could ever say.

If only it lasted.


End file.
